04/13/2026
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about laughter.
And how, when we’re going through a hard time, we can sometimes hold ourselves back from it.
Almost like it would be… wrong.
Like we don’t have permission.
Like if things are hard, we shouldn’t be laughing.
Like two things can’t exist at the same time.
Pain and joy.
Struggle and lightness.
But the truth is — we are many things at once.
We are many parts.
Many emotions.
Many truths, all living inside us at the same time.
And I’ve noticed in myself that when things feel hard, I can unconsciously take joy away.
Almost like I tell myself:
“No. Things aren’t okay right now. You don’t get to feel good.”
But I don’t actually believe that’s true anymore.
I’m beginning to see laughter differently.
Not as something that distracts us from reality…
but as something that brings us back to ourselves.
I think laughter is a kind of doorway.
A gateway to something deeper —
our core selves,
the part of us that is still connected to something bigger, whatever that means to you.
Laughing, in its own way, is just as much a release as crying.
It softens the body.
It opens something.
It lets us breathe again.
So I’ve been asking myself:
What actually makes me laugh?
Who makes me laugh?
What shows, what animals, what moments — what brings that kind of laughter that feels so full it almost hurts?
When is the last time you laughed like that?
The kind of laughter where, even for a moment, everything loosens.
These last couple of weeks haven’t been easy.
And still — alongside the difficulty — there have been moments of laughter.
Moments where something softened.
Moments where I could feel myself come back, even briefly.
And I have to remember that alongside the hard things, there are also people who love me.
People who see me clearly.
People who know me deeply.
I feel grateful to be here, in this body, in this time, with those people.
And I also know I’m still looking for more of that.
More connection.
More truth.
More spaces where we can be fully ourselves — not performing, not proving, but simply being.
And maybe that’s part of what laughter does — it reminds us that life is still here, even when things are hard.
Because I also know that for many women — especially those who have experienced trauma or CPTSD — joy can feel unfamiliar.
Sometimes it wasn’t safe to feel.
Sometimes it wasn’t modeled.
Sometimes it wasn’t allowed.
So we learn how to stay guarded.
How to stay in control.
How to stay “safe.”
But laughter gently interrupts that.
It loosens the grip.
It reminds the body that something else is possible.
That we are allowed to feel more than just survival.
That we are allowed to experience lightness, even in the middle of heaviness.
✨ You are allowed to feel joy. Even now.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you —
what makes you laugh?
